


Numb

by Twyd



Series: Winter [1]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Ambiguous Slash, Angst, Concussions, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Pre-Slash, Recovery, Slash, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twyd/pseuds/Twyd
Summary: "He doesn’t remember actually being hit. What he remembers is stepping out of the way of being hit, narrowly avoiding Shizuo’s fist, only his foot keeps moving, sliding back on the ice until the world flips, and he is falling."





	Numb

He doesn’t remember actually being hit. What he remembers is stepping out of the _way_ of being hit, narrowly avoiding Shizuo’s fist, only his heel keeps moving, sliding back on the ice until the world flips and he is falling. The force of it, the air, the drop, is never-ending, and it hits him with a distinct lack of urgency, ‘ _This is it, I’m going to die.’_

The ground hurts his back and his head, and the snow crunches in his mouth, copper-tasting, _so much snow_ ; in his clothes, in his bones, as sudden and sharp as the fall itself.

He lies there, stunned, as the snow flakes onto him, the pain gradually easing into numbness. He stares up at the sky, seeing white. The snow is almost protective now, walling around him like a blanket, flaking over him so gently. It’s beautiful.  His ears ring with the silence.  He wonders if he’s dead. He stays still, waiting for some kind of understanding. _Snow_ , he thinks, over and over, in time with his heart. _Snow. Snow._

A noise comes out of the white then, and it takes him a minute to figure out it’s his name.

“Izaya. Izaya.”

Shizuo is leaning over him, out of breath and drenched with snow.

“Izaya. Fuck.”

It takes him a moment to remember how to speak.

“It’s snowing,” he says, tasting it.

Shizuo laughs, an odd, strangled sound. 

“You don’t say.”

It’s still so quiet. He can almost hear the snow.

“Am I dead?”

“I wish.” He looks at Izaya like he’s afraid to touch him. “Are you all right?” He reaches out and tentatively brushes some of the snow from his face and hair, allowing him to see better. “You’re bleeding.”

Following Shizuo’s eyes, Izaya lifts one hand – it's like lifting lead – and holds it to his head. It comes away covered. He feels a vague sense of alarm at the sight of so much blood. _That can’t be good._

“Can you get up?” Shizuo growls now. Izaya senses it's not the first time he's asked. “I’m scared to move you.”

He says nothing.

“I can’t get a full signal, just emergency services. Should I call them?”

Izaya lets his hand fall away, already losing interest.

“It’s not an emergency.”

Shizuo looks at him a bit oddly.

“I think it is.”

Izaya looks back up at the snow. It’s heavier now. Half of him is almost covered. What if Shizuo had found him a little later? What if he hadn't come looking at all? The thought makes him tired, and he has to close his eyes.

“ _Izaya_ ,” Shizuo says again, cutting into his peace. “Come on. Get up.”

Izaya murmurs something vague. He does not want to get up.

“Come on,” Shizuo says again, tugging on his arm. “You’re bleeding. You’re freezing.”

It’s less effort to allow Shizuo to haul him to his feet. He closes his eyes and moans as the world tilts all over again.

Shizuo keeps hold of him.

“You're lucky the snow cushioned you like that.”

Izaya leans against him, saying nothing. He opens his eyes, and the stained snow swims back into view, holed into the vague shape of a person. It takes him a moment to realise it’s from himself.  He stares at it, fascinated.

“It looks like you killed me."

“Well, I didn’t,” Shizuo says defensively, as if Izaya may be about to argue this point. He sighs when Izaya doesn’t respond, tightens a reluctant arm round his waist to support him. ”Let’s go.”

When they’re back where they started, the prints from their fight already covered by fresh snow, Shizuo tries, unsuccessfully, to call Shinra. He frowns.

“Maybe I should take you to hospital instead.”

Now he's upright, absorbing Shizuo's body heat, Izaya begins to feel more like himself, save for the ringing in his ears. The snow is no longer fascinating to him – it is _freezing_ , and it hurts.

“Take me _home_ , you cretin,” he says, in a weak version of himself. “Get me a cab.”

“Welcome back,” Shizuo mutters. “And I can’t just take you home. You might have head injuries.”

Izaya wants to swear at him. The only thing keeping him from this is that he would be quite literally helpless if Shizuo let go and steps away from him, and he knows he'll be lost if he goes down in the snow again. His fingers and toes burn as the feeling returns to them.

Apparently coming to a decision, Shizuo pockets his phone and starts dragging Izaya along.

“Where are we going?” he mumbles.

“My place. It’s closer than yours, and it’s closer to Shinra if you need him.”

Izaya does swear then, and makes a pitiful attempt to dig his heels in the ground.

“Don’t make me carry you,” Shizuo growls.

“I want to go _home.”_

“I’ll keep trying Shinra,” he says, like he’s compromising.

“I hate you,” Izaya seethes.

“It’s your own fault,” Shizuo says, though he skips a beat before he says it, sounding uncomfortable. “You were too close to the edge.”

“I _see_. I fall off a cliff because you tried to hit me, and it’s my fault?”

“Don’t exaggerate, it wasn’t a cliff. And you fell on a blanket of snow.”

“A blanket. Of course. That’ll be why we’re both covered in my blood.”

“If you can snark, you’re probably gonna be fine.”

Izaya spends the rest of the walk seething over how much he hates Shizuo, even as he clings to him. It distracts him from the snow, and the anger warms his blood and keeps him sharp.

In Shizuo’s apartment, however, Shizuo seems to regret his decision; he looks at Izaya like he doesn’t know what to do with him.

Izaya makes the decision for him and starts wriggling out of his soaking clothes.

“I’m using your shower,” he tells Shizuo through chattering teeth. “Keep calling Shinra.”

“OK,” Shizuo says. He brings Izaya a towel and spare clothes. “Leave the door unlocked. In case you pass out,” he adds irritably, when Izaya glares at him.

In the bathroom, he catches sight of himself in the mirror before it steams over: a Halloween horror mask, more blood than skin. He gets in the bath and the water instantly turns red.

Even with the heat of the tub, with the steam rising off his body, he is still cold inside, so cold it hurts.

His fingers are numb. It takes him so long to put on the clothes that Shizuo gave him that it takes him a moment to realise they actually fit.

“Are these Kasuka’s?” he asks, once he’s out.

“Yes.”

He should be able to make a joke about this, but he can’t think.

“You’re still bleeding,” Shizuo tells him.

He closes his eyes begrudgingly as Shizuo wraps something around his head.

“I’m still cold,” he complains. He snatches up a throw from the sofa and wraps it around himself. “Where the hell is Shinra?”

Shizuo shrugs. “He must be busy. Do you want a real doctor?”

“No. I want a million blankets or I’m going home.”

“You can have 5 blankets, and I’ve turned the thermostat up.” His hands finish with the bandage and slide out of his hair. Izaya jerks away to glare at him.

“I hate you, Shizu-chan,” he seethes, as the cold shakes him from the inside. “I think I’m dying.”

Shizuo looks nonplussed.

“Like I said, if you can snark, you’re probably gonna be fine.”

* * *

 

He doesn’t remember going to sleep in Shizuo’s bed, but this is clearly what happens, as this is where he wakes up. Curled under a mound of blankets, a half finished cup of tea next to him, it is impossible to tell from the light in here what time it is. The sky through the window looks like it still might be snowing outside.

Shizuo comes back at some point and bring him fresh tea.

“I was dreaming I was dead,” Izaya tells him.

“Nah.” Shizuo brushes his hair back to feel his forehead, adjusting the bandage. “Just a little feverish.”

His hand feels nice. Izaya doesn’t realise quite how nice until Shizuo tries to draw it away, and he finds himself hanging on to his wrist, pushing it back into place.

Shizuo laughs at him. “Oh man. You’re really out of it, aren't you.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “How long have I been here?”

“All night.” Shizuo shrugs.  “Shinra came. He says you’re OK.”

Izaya frowns. Why hadn’t Shizuo insisted Shinra take him with him?

Shizuo tugs his wrist free while he's distracted.

“I have stuff to do. Shout if you need anything.”

* * *

 

It is dark when he wakes up, and he can feel the warmth of Shizuo’s weight next to him. He'd wondered if the protozoan would take the couch, or just climb in next to him.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Night,” Shizuo mumbles, in a voice that suggests it’s late.

“But what day is it?”

“By now, Thursday.”

 _Thursday_.

“Really. What’s been happening?”

Shizuo shrugs.

“Nothing. You know. Fights. Zombies.  Celty.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary then.”

“Nope.”

* * *

 

“Shizuo,” he says, next time he’s awake. He has something important to say, but he can feel it slipping away. This happens a lot, like his head still isn’t all there. He's lost track of the time and day again, which doesn't help. His head's killing him.

Shizuo waits patiently, eyebrows raised.

“Where’s my phone?”

“Oh.” He looks guilty. “It’s there. It was kind of soaking wet. Your wallet too.”

Izaya stares at the forlorn state of his phone, his wallet, next to his keys and his rings nestled on the other side of Shizuo’s bed, like they’re married. He laughs at this, earning an odd look from Shizuo. Laughing hurts however and he has to stop.  

“Whatever,” he says. He has plenty of phones.

Shizuo takes this as a hint to turn off the light and get in bed.

“I hate you,” Izaya says suddenly. “Why couldn’t you just take me home?”

“Because,” Shizuo sighs, like he’s explained this a million times. “You were acting really weird. You kept going on about the snow. And you still have your moments now. You're clinging to me one minute and bitching away the next.”

“No, I'm not,” he says uncomfortably, but he has no idea if this is true.  He knows he gets a little...confused still. That it makes him a little anxious. But he didn't think it made him noticeably different. That he was _clinging_.

“I thought you were dead,” Shizuo says suddenly, breaking into his thoughts.

Izaya says nothing.

"Even when I saw your eyes were open, you just lay there and you didn't move."

He stops listening. He wants Shinra. Even if he is fine, he wants Shinra. He wants someone who doesn’t hate him to tell him everything’s going to be all right, that he’ll be able to feel his fingers again soon.

“I want Shinra,” he says out loud.

 “You’re fine,” Shizuo says, as if he understands. “He spent ages checking you.”

Izaya says nothing.

Shizuo sighs and turns over in bed, as if to end the discussion.

“I can’t believe you didn’t just leave me there,” Izaya says, after some time, when he doesn’t even know if Shizuo’s awake.

“Why?” Shizuo answers, very much awake. “Would you have left me?”

“Yes.” The question takes him off guard, and the answer catches in his throat.

Shizuo snorts, unoffended. “Go to sleep, flea.”

He doesn’t, though. It’s too fucking cold. He shivers every now and then, although he tries not to, and it’s enough to shake the bed.

“Do you feel all right?” Shizuo asks, a little nervously, like Izaya might decide to die on him there and then.

“I’m cold,” Izaya says, and he _is_ , even though he can physically feel the weight of the blankets over him, it’s like there’s a wall of ice inside him.

“Still?” Shizuo says.

Izaya groans, and he’d slap his forehead if he wasn’t too cold to move.

Something covers him then, and he can’t tell if it’s Shizuo or another blanket. He doesn’t care. It helps, and he goes to sleep.

* * *

 

Izaya wakes up like a normal person in the morning, which Shizuo assumes is a good sign, even if he looks like he could do with another week's sleep. He'd lost weight, having barely eaten since he'd been there, and his collarbones stick out alarmingly under his - under _Kasuka's_ \- shirt.

The sleep disappears from his eyes immediately and he sits up like he'd been struck, like he’s forgotten where he is. His eyes have that look they had when Shizuo had first found him, staring blindly up at the snow like he was dead.

"Izaya?" Shizuo says uneasily, almost hoping for flea to bitch at him, as this is always a sign of his lucidity. “Do you want something to eat?”

Izaya blinks at him like it’s the furniture that’s spoken.

“No thanks. I’m OK.”

Shizuo leaves him to go for a cigarette. He lights up and leans back against his balacony wall, trying to exhale his tension with the smoke.

He’d been so sure Izaya was dead. So sure. Without the build up of snow, there’d be no question of it. And it hadn’t felt good. Seeing Izaya fall was watching like the ground falling away from his own feet. It makes his hands shake just thinking about it.

Izaya had slept, hadn’t so much as twitched, for almost 24 hours. His forehead had grown warm, though not alarmingly so, but his fingers had been like little icicles when Shizuo had removed his rings.

Shinra however had been nonplussed when he finally showed up.

“He’s had worse,” Was all the doctor had said, almost cheerfully. He had seemed relieved not to find Izaya in a worse state, after hearing Shizuo's tone on the phone, after a dozen missed calls.

Shizuo had looked at Izaya half-dead looking in his bed and doubted it. When Shinra had gone, he'd taken the flea's hands between his own and tried to rub some warmth back into them. _Just to get rid of him quicker,_ he'd told himself. _Just to get him better and get him out of here._

Shinra had not offered to watch Izaya at his own place, and Shizuo had not suggested it. It was hard to hate Izaya as much when he was unconscious.

Or now, with his hair is sticking up about a mile and rubbing his hands with both eyes like a little kid, looking the furthest thing from one of the most dangerous men in Ikebukuro.

 “Did you want me to call your sisters?" Shizuo offers. "Or - anyone?"

Izaya blinks at him.

“Why, what’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with them, I just…”

Izaya seems to understand.

“Oh, no. Don’t call anyone.” He looks at Shizuo now, some of the gleam coming back to his eyes. “Have you had time off work, Shizu-chan?”

“Yes.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart, or in case I do anything?”

“Both.”

“I could make a joke about you putting me in your bed when I’m in Kasuka’s clothes, but I won’t.”

“That’s very big of you.”

He laughs, then stops as it makes him wince.

“Don’t make me laugh, Shizu-chan, it jars my head.”

“Good,” he says.

“Can we have more tea?" Izaya asks, unoffended. "I’m cold.”

“Still?”

He nods, blankets wrapped around him like a shroud. He reaches out to touch Shizuo’s wrist, and his fingers are like ice.

 “All right,” Shizuo says, irritated, snatching his hand away.

He brings him soup as well, which he has to fight to get him to eat when he just sits there spacing out.

“What were we fighting about?” Izaya says suddenly. He is watching Shizuo with the spoon suspended halfway over the bowl. His gaze is unreadable and unwaveringly intense.

Shizuo stares at him, no less thrown than if he’d been asked the meaning of life.

“What were we fighting about?" He repeats. "I don’t know. What do we ever fight about? Does it matter?”

Izaya tilts his head like he’s giving this some serious thought, and Shizuo sighs and has to remind him, again, to eat.

* * *

 

The night after, however, Izaya looks almost himself again, save for the bruising on his head and the shadows under his eyes. There is more focus in his eyes and greater strength in his movements.

Izaya catches him looking and grins lazily.

"I think I better go home now."

“Tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, it’s really late.”

“Oh yeah. Yeah, tomorrow.” There’s a little pause. “I guess I owe you one for this.”

Shizuo shrugs.

“It was my fault. Kinda.”

“Still.”

Shizuo shrugs again.

“You know what to do.”

“Yeah, yeah, stay out of Ikebukuro.” He shakes his head. “You’re too nice, Shizu-chan.”

Now they’ve slept next to each other, now they’ve talked almost comfortably, it’s suddenly awkward, and Shizuo doesn't know what to say.

“You really expected me to just leave you? You’d have probably sued me, or something.”

Izaya turns over to face him, revealing a teasing smirk.

“You looked really worried, Shizu-chan.”

“Fuck off,” he snarls, feeling the old familiar bite in his gut. Izaya’s not as cute when he’s smirking.

A sensation of fear flickers in his stomach at this. _Cute_. _Cute._

Izaya stretches out beside him, oblivious.

“Goodnight, Shizu-chan.”

* * *

 

 Shizuo wakes up with an arm around Izaya. This tends to happen most nights, waking up with Izaya’s forehead pressed his throat, his hair tickling his face, a leg thrown over his, cold hands gripping his shirt. It’s more comfortable than lying rigid on the edge of the bed, blanketless, so Shizuo doesn’t shove him off.

“Cold,” Izaya complains nuzzling him, although this is the warmest Shizuo's felt him since he got here. He draws Izaya closer even so, drowsily content. The flea smells so much better when he’s not drowned in cologne. His hair’s soft and smooth and, despite his complaining, he's beautifully warm. Even as incapacitated as he is, Shizuo can feel the strength in him, and doesn't worry about sleeping next to him, about hurting him, as he does with most girls. He’s too busy absorbing all this, half asleep while Izaya keeps nuzzling him, that it takes him a moment to work out what's happening.

"Izaya," he says, stiffening, recognising the rhythm of his breathing, the unmistakable hardness against his thigh.

“Please,” Izaya sighs, quiet with need. His skin is hot, Shizuo can't tell if it's feverish or not. “I'm cold.”

He kisses Shizuo then, and it’s so sudden, so good, that Shizuo finds himself relaxing into it.

"Izaya," he says. He puts a half hearted hand on his shoulder. “We can’t – just because you’re cold – “

Izaya starts giggling.

“There are other perks to it, you know.”

He catches Izaya's wrists when he tries to kiss him again, holding him back.

"No," he says unsteadily, heart skittering. "You're sick. You keep acting weird."

"Please," Izaya whines, trying to press into his waist. "You want it too."

"You're sick," Shizuo says again, a little louder than he'd intended, because he is, he's obviously completely out of it.

Izaya's squirming suddenly goes slack.

“Fine.” There's a slight edge to his tone, and it's only then that Shizuo realises the informant may have misunderstood what he meant by 'sick'.  Izaya pulls free of him and pulls away. “You’re no fun, Shizu-chan.”

Then he turns over and goes to sleep, just like that, leaving Shizuo with his heart thudding in the dark.

* * *

 

Izaya is gone when he wakes up. Shizuo knows this without even looking, knows that Izaya is not in the bathroom, or getting something to eat, and sure enough, his things are gone from the bedside when Shizuo turns over. As soon as he realises this, he finds he is not surprised in the slightest. And not relieved, either, as he hoped he'd be.  He knows, with the vague, collapsed feeling he gets whenever he's missed something important, that Izaya will never mention this, or come near this apartment, ever again.

He closes his eyes again, and tells himself this doesn't matter.


End file.
